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On a recent poll with my readers, the results were not surprising:
The poll was not anonymous, and I know many of my readers. Several of the "way too much" respondents are married, have children, have jobs, are surrounded by people all the time, and YET... they feel alone. I can relate. Loneliness is harmful to your health. But how do we fix it? We've never been more "connected" in our lives? Or have we? I have found 10 ways to feel more connected in a digital world. These are not from some article or YouTube video. These are just what has worked for ME. I hope they work for you too:
I love interacting with my readers. For more of an inside look into my days, you can follow me on TikTok, Instagram, or Facebook. Please support my other hope*writers by reading their works based on the prompt word LONELY: Is God Lonely for You? By Sharla Hallett https://sharlahallett.com/is-god-lonely-for-you/ Loved vs. Lonely by Lisa Crowder https://lisacrowder.substack.com/p/5c456855-76dc-499f-90cd-6ffef071a3d3 Simple Is Better Lent - When Lonely is OK by Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/2023/03/01/simple-is-better-lent-when-lonely-is-ok/ Open Letter to the Lonely Mom by Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/lonely-mom/ Breaking the Stigma: Understanding and Talking About Loneliness by MelAnn https://lifesouvenirs.net/p/breaking-the-stigma
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Ancestry.com has become very popular in the past 10-15 years. I decided to join Ancestry.com in 2019. My husband and I took our tests initially and then I bought my parents the tests a few months later. Ancestry can be as public or as private as you like. You also have the option to delete your DNA results at any time. If you have been thinking about joining Ancestry.com but are on the fence, check out a few of the features listed below. I pay a little extra to see the detailed documents because those interest me, but the basic plan also gives you tons of information into your family history. One of the new features of ancestry.com breaks down which parts of your ethnicity you obtained from which parent. The technology allows for this even without your parents' DNA - which as a scientist by trade - amazes me! I love that I have access to so many historical documents through Ancestry.com. I have seen marriage records, birth and death certificates, census records, military paperwork, and immigration records. Legos and Laundry. These have been in my living room and dining room for over 10 years now. Should legos be in the rooms where we eat or relax? Should laundry? I say - YES. I have wanted to be a mother since I can remember. I babysat most of the kids in my neighborhood. Back when 12-year-olds could safely keep a few toddlers without any cell phones to reach any adults. Back when toddlers were thrilled to have said 12-year-old-neighbor-girl to make them pretend-school-worksheets and teach them how to hopscotch. Those were the days. Back to the legos and the laundry, there are many days where "I can't wait until this house is in order and everything is in its place and nobody's dirty socks or underwear will be on the floor!". But now that I've had one successfully leave the nest, I don't catch myself wincing over the legos or the laundry as much. See I know those cleats will be gone one day. I know that clarinet practice I hear from upstairs will be a distant memory. I know the messy rooms and the slammed doors and the "WHATTTTT?" of a teenager (with the required eye roll) will soon be in my rearview. And sometimes it catches my breath. Because I know. I know I will go from discussions around algebra to conversations about mortgages. From little league to stadiums. From junior Broadway productions to a college stage, perhaps. It's the perhaps that gets me too. See they were little, hard to believe but true. No bigger than my short arms could nuzzle. And I rocked them every night. And I picked out their nursery furniture and their first backpack and their first set of beliefs in many ways. But they're growing up. And they're SO smart. They can think for themselves and they challenge me, too. Make my brain stretch. Make my heart explode. I didn't know it could feel so good and so awful at the same time. Good that they're becoming themselves and that they're happy. Awful that I can't protect them and keep them from getting bumped and bruised like we all did. Now when I hang up that uniform or listen to the show soundtrack for the 100th time, I just smile. I let the legos pile up. I keep the clean clothes folded in the basket on the dining room table. And I hold my breath just a few more years and soak in every minute that I can get with them. How many more loads of laundry will I get? I think any mother would agree there is never enough. Written by one sappy mom to anyone else who feels this. Written when my boys are 10, 12, and 20. Written when I'm sandwiched between launching children and caring for aging parents. Written when the world seems automated and conversations seem rare. Written with my own youth creeping toward my rearview, with a coffee mug in my hand, and a knowing heart swollen in my chest. Godspeed. Mom. Mama. Pinky. Jan. Janice. Dear. Sis. She will answer to any of these, but I believe "Pinky" is her favorite beckon. That's what her 3 grandsons call her. She didn't become a grandmother until she was 58 after believing it may not ever happen for her. Accounting. Bookkeeping. Payroll. Spreadsheets. Analysis. She has done that for work and now as a retired wife and home finance piddler, trying to spread retirement funds in all the right directions. She didn't finish her bachelor's degree until she was 48. That's perseverance and determination. And sacrifice. Don't think I didn't see you, Mom. Cook. Grocery shopper. Queen of the kitchen. Not only did she work, she cooked. She had homemade meals on the table for us every night (that we were home with all of our extracurriculars). And we ate together. At the table. With the TV off. You taught me to cook, Mom. No set lessons. Just daily presence. Daily consistency. I cook because of you, your mother, and your aunts. It dripped down into me, and I thank you. Culture. Music. Theatre. Movies. Travel. Books. I credit both Mom and Dad for this, but I think mom's love for the arts fueled my own. Mom wasn't a musician or an artist. She didn't write for fun like I do today. Children weren't always encouraged to pursue creativity in the 1950's and 1960's, so she made sure that we could do so. She is now sprinkling this love into my firstborn, and he knows it. They are magnets for one another, and I love to see their attraction. Thank you, Mom. Everybody deserves at least one magnet. Physical touch. Back scratches. Hands held. Hugs. Cuddles. Loving tenderness. I am a nurse because of you. I am realizing this more and more every day as I straddle launching children and aging parents. I learned to touch and care from you. One of my boys recently asked me "how did you know how to do that mom?" when he saw me soothing a baby and keeping her entertained. I learned it from you. I watched you and I received love from you. Thank you for giving me softness. I'm hard and sharp in so many ways. I need that cushion you have given me. Peace. Restraint. Calm. I've seen you mad, but only when necessary. Mostly I see restraint and thought. Intentional words and actions. Maturity. The tornado inside of me is calmed by your grounding, and for that I am forever grateful. I got my feistiness from your mother, and I see your sensibility in my youngest. Thank you for giving me a mirror of you in him. He will always remind me of you in his tenderness. Your childhood was very different from mine. But God knew I would need someone to talk to about families that may look different. My adulthood has been very different from yours. But God knew you might be able to heal some from witnessing adults making decisions that are really hard and living through plans that don't always work out. That's what I want to believe, Mom. That we have taught each other. Helped each other grow. You're my best friend, Mom. And I see you. I don't believe in perfect. I see YOU. And you see ME. All the cracks. And we still choose each other. Thank you for loving me through all of it. We are not done yet. And I can't wait for the rest. I don't know what your relationship is like with your mother. I don't know if your mom is alive or if she is already gone. I can't fix whatever may have happened with you and your mother. I can only share my truth and in this truth, I know that I am extremely lucky and blessed to have the mom I have and the relationship we have. Godspeed. If you know me at all, you know I love a planner. I love pens. I love paper. I love washi tape and stickers! I love making a list and crossing things off. I love mentally planning as well as physically planning. So of course- I have a Christmas Planner! Christmas is my FAVORITE time of year, with fall being a very close second. Holidays can be awesome, but they can also be overwhelming. They can drain the bank account and drain the energy bank as well.
The whir of the wall heater lulls me to sleep. I’m in seventh grade again, at my friend’s house, dreaming of my life as an adult. We just watched Dirty Dancing and inhaled a bag of Doritos with a 2L of Dr Pepper and no one considered the carbohydrates involved. In reality, I am an adult. With children. And two husbands by now. And a whole lot of disappointments and triumphs along the way. I still feel like that awkward seventh grader when, I’m actually the mother of a seventh grader. How did this happen? I’m typing this in a cottage in the woods. A writer’s weekend, that’s what I claimed it to be. And in late 2022, I am stuck trying to decide how much of my life to share on social media and how many posts are “enough” to promote my writing. The internet connection is poor here and it’s a blessing and a curse. When did we become so tied to people we’ve never met and numbers oft generated by bots? Do I measure the importance of my work by likes, shares, and follows or by actual lives impacted? And let’s be honest, we rarely know when we impact a life because the Enneagram and Myers-Briggs tells us that a certain % of folks are introverts and would never tell us if we helped them, to no fault of our own. And the trauma we have all endured. I am not joking. The real actual trauma and pain I have seen my fellow GenXers and patients and friends endure. We all go to therapy and spend countless hours trying to right some of the wrongs between scrolling and TikToking, working our regular jobs, raising tiny to full-sized humans, and trying to eat whole foods. In this world of 2-4 second attention spans, I feel lost. I feel lonely. I feel drained. Am I the only one? And so I sit. In Midlife. In the Southeast. In middle school bleachers and while planning a wedding for the oldest. I sit at baseball tournaments and in my car traveling to see my patients. I sit at kitchen tables discussing hospice the same morning I sit with my fifth grader studying vocabulary. I know I’m not alone. The Middle is weird. It’s not the beginning, like I am reminded of with my oldest and his fiancé. The furniture shopping and the bedspread and dishes selections. It’s not the end either. The disbursement of family heirlooms and quiet days sparsely populated by visiting friends or family. It’s not the days of toddler-parent-survival where bath time and nap time ruled the schedule. But it’s not the days where everyone can drive yet either. And oh yeah a pandemic happened. School shootings. A nation so divided I can’t even recognize it. But just keep on going folks. Keep on posting and hashtagging and hustling. Meh. I will take this Middle. I will take the Menopause and the investment planning and the figuring out how to parent adult children. I will take it and try to learn from it and admit that it’s uncomfortable. See, we are too old to fake stuff in this Middle. We have seen too much. I think my writing will continue to be what it is. Real. Raw. With a flimsy filter and a side of sarcasm. It will grow as I do. I hope you join me. If anything in this little diary entry stirred your insides, then know that we are in this together. Let’s go. Awkward but not alone. She’s walked through the fire and the storms while dancing in the rain … Her life has been difficult and filled with excruciating pain … She’s suffered many losses in such a short time yet she continues to believe that in the end… it will all be fine … With such strength and undeniable belief she tells me her healing will come in God’s time … It may not be here on earth but perhaps in heaven she will be pain free… Her words are heavy on my heart and somewhat difficult to grasp, for me… She’s my daughter, Keyera, and she suffers from sickle cell It’s a genetic disorder that we know all too well: Her story is a bit different than usual. She wasn’t properly diagnosed until the age of five. My husband and I worked different shifts so that one of us was always home with the kids. At 5, she started kindergarten and became ill after the weakened live intranasal flu vaccine was given. Initially, her pediatrician thought she had the flu in spite of the vaccination. She ran fever, she was fatigued, she had to be carried or she’d just sit in one spot. After 3 rounds of Rocephin (a strong antibiotic) injections and no improvement, her pediatrician, Dr. Allardice, admitted her to the hospital. She ran various tests. She asked about sickle cell, I told her that her cousin had it and my other daughter had the trait but as far as I knew, Keyera didn’t have the trait OR the disease. I was never notified by the health department or pediatrician’s office that I saw prior to Dr. Allardice. My daughter’s health was rapidly declining. In my heart, I felt her slowly drifting away. It seemed as though she had developed pneumonia. Treatment was started and I begged and cried for God not to take my baby away. When her test results came back, I was shocked and in disbelief. I had made sure Keyera had all of her immunizations and that she went to all of her well child visits. She had sickle cell anemia SS and it wasn’t pneumonia. She had acute chest syndrome. Sickle cells are shaped like a sickle so they don’t pass the veins and arteries like they should. Acute chest occurs when there is sickling in the pulmonary arteries and it can mimic pneumonia. Many patients with sickle cell have passed away due to acute chest, heart attack, or stroke. We were fortunate that she was admitted and diagnosed. Her situation was dire. She is now 22 years old. She’s had both hips replaced due to AVN (avascular necrosis - lack of blood supply to the bone) caused by sickle cell. She suffers from medical PTSD due to being in the hospital so often at an early age. She’s lost friends and in 2020, her cousin, Makayla, with sickle cell passed away. Her journey has been challenging and she’s often called resilient but truthfully, she is vulnerable and fragile at times. She just wasn’t given an easier course to take. She often gets upset when people tell her to be robust during a crisis. The thing about pain is that it demands to be felt, no matter how hard you try to ignore it. It makes its presence known. Unfortunately, there is not a universal cure for sickle cell anemia at this time. Not everyone can find a match or are a good candidate for bone marrow transplants. Due to my daughter’s health issues, it’s not an option. She has less than a 50% chance of surviving a transplant. My daughter depends on blood donors to have a decent quality of life. It requires 7-10 units of blood each month. If you want to be a hero and save lives, please donate blood. Before the monthly exchanges, she was in the hospital at least twice a month. She was miserable and asked God on several occasions to let her fall asleep and not wake up. She still has challenges but she is enjoying life and spreading awareness. When her cousin passed away and she got to say her farewell, she promised her with weeping eyes that she’d continue to fight and educate others. I encourage you to research sickle cell anemia. If you know or love someone with it, check in on them but remember though they may be resilient. They do get tired, though they seem strong, listen and support them when they say they’re exhausted or weak. When they say they hurt, believe them. Never tell them they don’t look sick, your intentions may be well meaning but not every illness is visible. My heart cries as my soul weeps for all the sickle cell warriors that continue to suffer or have lost the fight … Each day they try or tried to live the best life possible with all of their might … Simple things that we take for granted can be such a heavy burden or test … Their bodies tire easily and they must often take a break to simply rest …
My daughter has kept her promise to her cousin. She has done several informative interviews regarding sickle cell and continue to spread awareness. Giving blood is such a simple task but it has such a great impact on the quality of life for those that need it. It cannot be manufactured, please donate blood and help save lives. Blog host's note: I know La Keisha because she is a nurse. She does not mention being a nurse in this piece, but I feel I must. As a nurse, we take care of other mothers' children when our own children are sick at home. We minister to other daughters' aging parents when our own aging parents need us. We comfort other wives' husbands when our own husbands miss us and wish they had more time with us. So just imagine the toll this has taken on my friend, my sister, my fellow nurse. She wouldn't trade it. We nurses wouldn't trade it, our calling. But being a nurse and a mother to a sick child deserves space in this world. Godspeed. It's summer. In Georgia. So it's HOT. And one thing I'm learning about these long, hot days is that being inside in the cool AC with a fan whirring in the background and nature showing off outside my window gives me both energy and rest simultaneously. Yes, the kids are out of school. Yes, there are lots of "mom, I'm bored" whines followed almost immediately by "mom, I'm hungry." But there is something about summer that makes us all kids again, isn't there? We stay up later than we should. We eat popcorn for dinner if we want to eat popcorn for dinner. We "don't have any homework" and most of us "don't have practice" and a messy house is expected with kids out of school. Pools call our names and floating counts as exercise. Ice cream outings beckon us to sidewalks in small towns. A live band on a starlit night with a warm breeze gives me enough wattage to survive this Georgia heat and sink into my sheets at night both tired and invigorated. We talk to our neighbors more. The same ones we see all year walking their dogs. But it's summer. And summer gives us permission to interact even in this lonely digital world. Movies are cast on campers and garage doors. Glow sticks compete with fireflies and fireworks happen a few times each summer- all over the world. Smores become dessert and even church seems more fun in the summer. God must be showing off a little more with these summer rules and nature's beauty on display. Books are suddenly important to moms and sometimes even dads. And not books for the kids, books for US. We suddenly want to read... by the pool, at the lake, on the beach. Clothing is thinner and shorter so even laundry is less cruel and mundane. Work is necessary for most of us, but even WORK in the summer is better. Frankly we are all in a better mood. So I ask you to sit for a minute or two and consider all the things you LOVE about summer. There is so much going on in the world this June of 2022, that I chose to focus on any summer, all summers, just summer for my reflection post. Life has been heavy, but I need light. We head to the beach in a few weeks and my children's' excitement is like a drug. They giggle and ramble on about all the things we will do and how fun it will be. And I join in! Because I was 10 years old one time, without a bank account or work deadline or relationship issue to worry about. I was 10 years old. Out of school. Staying up late. And catching fireflies after I rode my bike and jumped in the pool with my friends. Allow yourself to be 10 years old today. The world needs that right now. Godspeed. After writing School Colors as I processed the Uvalde tragedy, I kept feeling and seeing the word BRAVE creep into my mind and body. As with any tragedy, loss, or wonkiness we endure, I think people turn to comedy for some type of comfort or relief. Pandemic comedians, where you at? (yes I used improper grammar and I liked it)... Anywho, I've had a lot of ICKY after this most recent school shooting, and I have found myself SCROLLING more than usual- I guess as a form of searching for both relief and answers. 😞 Upon scrolling, I saw a meme of the 80's mustachioed dad tossing his bewildered 7 year old into the pool as his form of "swim lessons." Ha ha- so funny- so true (established 1976 right here), keep scrolling. Still smiling as my right thumb hovered over my phone, I felt a small nudge. Brave. Kids. Brave kids. Kids who are brave. Parents who allow kids to BE BRAVE. Now I'm NOT thinking or talking about Uvalde, but I'm thinking and talking about the kids I see and know. The ones in my house. The ones in my neighborhood. The ones on my son's team. The ones in my son's acting group. The ones in their classes. My cousins' kids. My friends' kids. MY KIDS. Last night I watched my youngest son do something SO BRAVE. It took so much courage to do what he did. After his brave act, I asked him how he felt. He had mixed emotions (because his efforts were great but not PERFECT) and he was exhausted. I explained to him that what I loved the most about his endeavor was the COURAGE he displayed to even attempt his feat. Good, bad, perfect, terrible, wonderful, awful, whatever... he DID IT! And he did not give up. And he did not waiver. He believed in himself and he followed through without the 2022 SAFETY NET of PARENTS and SOCIETY. But friends, are we the NET we think we are for these children? Are we catching them when they fall or are we blocking the ladder to get to the scary top? Are we so worried about their potential failure (and heaven forbid it being captured on social media) that we are keeping them from even DREAMING or BELIEVING or TRYING to reach for the stars? Are we modeling GOING FOR IT and TRYING NEW THINGS or are we waiting on the sidelines watching reels of strangers going for it? Did we "see it on TikTok" or did we actually try it ourselves? Are we letting them FAIL or are we making sure they SUCCEED at all costs? Are we celebrating the lessons learned or only the medals won? So I challenge you, Moms and Dads, Aunts and Uncles, Grannies and Nannies and Pappaws... talk to the children in your life about COURAGE and BRAVERY. Discuss success and failure at the supper table. On the way to the "brave feat" last night, that same son asked me if some celebrity was a millionaire. My response: "I'm sure he is, but that doesn't mean he's happy. Ask that celebrity what matters to him, what he stands for, who he has helped in his life - that's a better question." Give your dear ones a little wiggle room to make mistakes. Let them have an original thought and better yet, AN OPINION. Encourage them when they are frustrated, but please do not fix it all for them. Allow them to clean up their own messes. If I have learned anything in the past few weeks, it is that my children and the children in this world are BRAVE SOULS, braver than we will ever imagine. Let us unlock their courage and model resiliency after "failure." Put your phone down. Talk to the kids in your life. Ask them what courage means to them. SHOW THEM how to be brave. Godspeed. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am still not okay after what happened in Uvalde, Texas. I am okay with not being okay. This post is not meant to belittle those events in any way. I'm watching my children as they move through this. I'm learning from them how to be brave. If you are a mother, you know the feeling. You're at work instead of field day. You're at one child's band performance while the other child has an academic bowl meet. You missed that baseball practice out of sheer exhaustion and that's the one where he hit it over the fence. "Mom, can you pick me up car rider? Can you check me out early like all my friends? When are you going to be off work again? Mom, why are you on your laptop so much? Mom, are you listening?" Some of those innocent but real questions can cut me like a knife, leaving me gutted and riddled with GUILT. Mom Guilt. It's a thing. And I think we should talk about it. AND we certainly do not help ourselves as a gender or a community. Not only do our KIDS make us feel guilty, our fellow moms can inadvertently or purposefully trigger shame and guilt at any given moment. Pam made homemade Christmas cookies for the entire class while we can barely pack lunches each day. Trisha made Halloween goodie bags with a punny handmade tag using her Cricut. Allison sewed personalized pencil pouches for the entire third grade while we are struggling to sign each kid's agenda every night. Then there's social media. Be sure to only buy non-GMO Organic foods. Is your car seat in the top 3 for safety? How often is your child brushing their teeth? Gluten is the devil. ADHD is real - oh wait, no it's not - you're just a lazy parent. Discipline your kids. Don't discipline them, let them find their own way. All babies should cry it out. Babies who cry it out have attachment issues and end up in therapy before age 30. Limit that screen time. Make sure they play outside, but you must watch them outside AND still get all your paid-work done and maintain a spotless house with home-cooked meals. Cloth diapers. Breastfeeding. Well, if you work then store-bought baby food might be okay- but only if you work now. And don't forget to recycle. Make it stop. When my boys were 2, 4, and 12, I walked into my CEO's office and said "I quit. Other women are raising my children and I quit." I didn't have another job lined up. Fortunately, I had some savings, but that was mainly because I was working SO HARD and barely had my head above water that I never had time to shop or vacation (ie spend money). I was justifying myself to a man (my CEO) whose wife did not work and I "knew" he was coming home to beautifully home-cooked meals, a clean house, freshly washed and ironed clothes, and a wife who probably still had energy for sex instead of one who was collapsing into bed every night. OR SO I THOUGHT. He kindly and calmly asked me to take a deep breath, sit down, and reconsider. What about part time or PRN (the medical term for as needed)? Did I want to lose my 6-7 years of tenure with the company? Did I always want to stay home or did I just need a break? Did I still enjoy being a nurse practitioner? The truth was, I did not know the answers to his questions. I had ZERO plans, which goes against my basic core (search "plan" on this blog and you'll quickly see I plan everything). I had not asked myself if I enjoyed my work because I barely knew what day it was. I felt pulled in every direction by every person in my life and I was dreaming of ways to "get off the treadmill." My husband's lawn business was booming, and I was quickly running out of bandwidth to help him with that as well as my other demands at home and work. I felt like I was choking, but I wasn't sure WHAT was choking me the most. I just knew in my SOUL that I had to make a change. I prayed about it. I took a few days to write it all out - not my feelings - I had not found a therapist yet. 👀 Who had time for therapy? BUT, I did somehow remember some of my high school and college skills for decision making and scribbled down ALL the reasons that quitting my job would make me happier overnight. In the end, I heeded my younger-than-me CEO's advice and worked PRN the first year and part-time the second year before returning full-time when my youngest started pre-K. Since I am not independently wealthy, I did eventually have to bring home some more bacon. So, then what happened? Was my life immediately better once I was home more? Did the MOM GUILT end over night? Was I making beautifully home-cooked meals, providing freshly washed and ironed clothes, maintaining a perfectly clean house, and bursting with energy for sex every night since I no longer "worked" every day? Turns out, the joke was on me. Not really a joke though my friends. It's the truth. My 4 year old was in Pre-K, but my 2 year old was suddenly out of daycare. My 12 year old was in honors classes in middle school and I found myself juggling potty training, phonics, and puberty. 3 P's that should never go together. 😜 I was waking almost as early as I had been when I commuted to my demanding NP job. I was feeding kids, washing clothes, and picking up toys all day it seemed. I was helping with homework instead of paying my babysitter to do that. I was making brownies for the PTO instead of money for retirement. I was just as tired, but it was more of a physical tired than a mental exhaustion. I was able to go to the gym regularly, and THAT was amazing. Our gym had childcare, so I would tell the boys if they wanted a "nice mommy and not a mean mommy" then we would be going to the gym, thank you very much. I DID have more downtime. I laughed regularly. For the first time in YEARS. I WAS able to take and pickup my kids from school. I had never before and never since had that luxury. The pure joy of seeing my boys' faces when I picked them up each day was worth the frequent melt-downs when I had to wake the 2 year old to go pick up the 4 year old. (How do we do these things and no one discusses it?) I learned lyrics to Disney movies instead of new treatment guidelines for diabetes. I never took the kids to school in my pajamas, but I suddenly realized why so many women did. I dropped ALL judgment of other mothers, because I was IN THE TRENCHES. I missed adult conversation. I missed feeling important- there - I said it. I lost my temper, and I raised my voice on occasion. Sadly... and this really does make me sad... I simply had not been around my babies enough HOURS of the day to really, really lose my patience with them. Not until I was home. Cutting coupons. Cutting Play-doh with tiny plastic scissors. And realizing that THIS was the real work. THIS was the important work. And so I sit here tonight with tears in my eyes.
One launched and doing well. One in middle school with puberty and insecurity competing for his time. One who still lets me hug him in front of his friends. And I don't know much more than I did 8 years ago when I walked in my boss's office overwhelmed and undone. I'm still in awe of and in love with those 3 beautiful minds and faces that call me Mom. But guilt? Will I wallow in guilt when I reflect over my presence in their lives? Maybe on a bad day. Maybe for a minute or two when I have a "mom fail." BUT I BEG OF YOU. OF ALL OF US. TO MAKE IT STOP. WE ARE WARRIORS IN OUR OWN RIGHT. WE KISS THE BOO-BOOS AND SCARE AWAY THE MONSTERS. WE QUIZ THE SIGHT WORDS AND TIE THE LACES. WE FEED THEM SOMETHING SEVERAL TIMES A DAY, AND WE ENSURE THEY ARE CLOTHED. WE ARE DOING THE BEST WE CAN. WE ARE FLAWED BUT PHENOMENAL. WE ARE IMPERFECT BUT IRREPLACEABLE. WE ARE MOTHERS. LET US UNITE AND HOLD SPACE FOR ONE ANOTHER. Godspeed. My story is different than most step-moms. Almost seven when I met him he already had a mom. So I did what thought a step-mom would do. I had no child of my own. Lord knows I did not have a clue how to parent this sweet boy who slept down the hall every other week for a week. Thus we stumbled; there were falls. Those early years of homework and karate class. Parent-teacher conferences where I was often asked if I was his mom, since I was the only one who seemed tuned in who emailed and would come to all his events, I was all in. Meanwhile I had my babies 20 months apart, back to back. Boys upon boys, our schedules were packed. Those years of one on the hip and one in the belly and one hitting puberty. I wish THIS wiser me could tell THAT younger me that it would all work out one way or another; but his daddy and I we fought over and over. I saw coddling. He saw support. I saw side-taking. He saw retort. Step-son soon lived with us full-time and that was that. I was really his mom. She stopped putting on the act. So I again tried to treat all 3 the same "we have rules in this house" "If you did it, take the blame." But Daddy (to me) just couldn't allow his oldest who had been hurt to be kept in tow. Maybe by him, but never by me. Maybe on a Tuesday, but never consistently. So the marital battle of blended families began. It wasn't "yours, mine, and ours" it was "Me & The Little Two versus Them." And it divided us, collided us, excised us from the family that I had prayed for and dreamed of and waited for... But I didn't know how to fix it, The divide between the 5 of us. I was "always too hard on him," I needed to "chill out and stop caring so much." This passionate mama doesn't know how to do that. I see my children and I want them to try and to do their best. Thus the battle continued. There were wounds. There were scars. Being a full-time step-parent has left its mark. On our marriage. On my spirit. On my step-son, I'm sure. The war still continues as we are almost 2 years in to him being an adult and out of the house. I have certain expectations. I require a text or call now and then. I wish I could tell you it's easy or fun. Maybe for some folks it is, but not for us. Trying to glue us back together has been the hardest thing I have EVER done. But we keep on trying Keep on fighting Is it Fighting or is it Trying? The world keeps spinning The time keeps ticking The years seem shorter The road can seem colder... but sometimes on a Saturday when I watch my children smile and play, I remember that it's worth it and HE is worth it and WE are worth it. I sigh and sleep the hurt away. So if you love someone you didn't make You see their soul, and you feel their ache, Remember that they know the truth And love is really all they need from you. Keep loving. Love heals. If you love someone you didn't make, I see you. You are seen. And you matter. Okay, this post might get a little confusing so bear with me. I would call it a fable, but fables involve animals or forces of nature according to Wikipedia. I would call it a parable, but I am not Jesus. So it's just a story. A True Story. As I was cooking tonight, I was actually following a recipe - which is something I very rarely do. Wouldn’t you know it? I totally screwed the recipe up. I had scrolled the internet late last night before the midnight cutoff for my click list and somehow combined two different chicken casserole recipes into one in my tired mom brain. Since I do cook on a regular basis, I tried to assemble the casserole from memory. That was where things went wrong. Long story short, the casserole was delicious and my family asked me to write it down so we can have it again. Then my writer brain kicked in, and I started to think of my friends who loathe cooking and would rather swallow nails than be stuck in a kitchen near a stove. I have always wondered if these friends (male or female) grew up in a house where meals were cooked on a regular basis. I have an inside scoop on meals in a wide variety of households because I am the primary care provider for around 2000 patients. I have families who eat out three meals per day seven days per week. How they afford a roof over their head, gas in their car, or clothes on their body is beyond me LOL. The folks in my house like to eat. Since I analyze everything, after this chicken casserole disaster-turned-deliciousness, I started to think about the non-cooks that I know.
Anyway, aside from all that, I started to think about the actual skills I have acquired from cooking on a regular basis. I rarely have to measure things unless it’s a new recipe. I really don’t even look at recipes. I’ve always been able to just make something up and it works. But I do give credit to my parents who always cooked and included me in the cooking. As a latchkey kid in the 1980s and 1990s, mom would leave directions for supper on an index card by the stove.
This helped me learn what side dishes pair with which main courses and how to time meals so that everything was ready at one time. If you hate to cook you’ve probably stopped reading by now, but bear with me- I do have a point. If you like to cook, I’m sure you’re reminiscing about your early cooking endeavors as a teen or early 20s and remembering the disasters and burned meals. We have all had them. Now back to my point. I think cooking is a lot like parenting. Some people have cooks in their homes and learn how to cook because they are included in the cooking and it comes naturally to them. Likewise, some children have really good parents in their homes and learn how to parent because they see good parenting every day. When they become parents, they are able to mirror a lot of what they saw as children. What about all the little girls and little boys that don’t see good parenting? Do they grow up to hate being a parent? Is parenting more difficult for them? Some of my non-cooking friends have told me that cooking is difficult for them. Are there any parallels? I am not saying good parents cook. Being a good parent has absolutely nothing to do with cooking. I am just wondering if my patients that seem to be checked out on parenting had poor examples of parents from which to learn. I know, I know. Deep, random thoughts on a rainy Sunday night. But I think of the little girls and the little boys who are now big girls and big boys. I see them struggling because they come to me. They open up about their struggles. And I feel them. I see their efforts and witness their frustrations. Most of them are really trying, but they feel defeated from the jump. I am not going to get overly cheesy here about a cookbook or a parenting book. Life is much harder than anything you could ever read in either of those books. I just want you to know that some of us got a “recipe” given to us while others did not. Some of us received love, attention, and praise while others did not. Let us be kind to one another and forgo the judgment. “Food” comes from many places. Let us feed each other well. ☀️ Godspeed.
So 2021 came. It didn't conquer. Or did it? It was a blur for me both personally and professionally. I am looking forward to 2022, and what better way to kick off the new year than with FAVORITES!?!? Favorites are alway fun and they are never right or wrong. They are subject to opinion and they require zero effort to consume. So sit back, relax, and scroll along ?
Here are my January 2022 Favorites:
The Organize 365 Podcast:
Lisa Woodruff is the owner and founder of Organize 365, a company that helps women get their homes and papers organized for good. She created a Sunday Basket, 100 Day Home Organization Program, and binders for finance, medical, a child with special needs, your home, you name it. I plan to dedicate an entire blog post to her programs, but if any of this interests you at all, I have linked her website below. I am a Certified Paper Organizer and Sunday Basket Organizer with Organize 365, and I can 100% vouch for her systems! Her podcast can be found anywhere you listen to podcasts. ? The Morning Show on Apple TV: First of all, the actors: Reese Witherspoon, Jennifer Anniston, Steve Carell, Billy Crudup, Marcia Gay Harden- just to name a few. The topics are timely (pandemic, Me Too movement) and show all sides of the issues. The show is definitely inappropriate for children, so you'll have to watch this once the kids are in bed, but I have not been able to stop mid-episode. I often had to force myself to stop and get in the bed! I love the realistic view of "power" and how we really are all the same regardless of the money, fame, and title. We all crave love and connection. HappilyAHousewife on YouTube: This year marks 10 years that Samantha (Sam) has been vlogging on YouTube. She has 3 kids similar in age to mine. She started as a SAHM (stay-at-home-mom) and is now back in the workforce. She is a baseball mama, likes to cook, likes to plan, and is VERY down-to-earth. When I "quit" work in 2014 and slowed down to just 2 days a week, I had no idea how to be a "housewife." Since I like to research, I typed "how to be a housewife" into Google and Sam popped up! I don't always have time to watch every video, but if I ever want a recipe or planning idea or I just need to know I'm not alone in this mom life, she always cheers me up. She is very REAL, and that's what I love the most! I have linked her channel below. Side note: I "went back to work" full-time in 2016 when my youngest started pre-K. I loved that 2 years when I worked part-time when they were 2-4. Let me know if you'd like an entire post about working versus staying home. ❤️ My leggings from Amazon: Soft, not too loose or too tight, phone pocket, high waist / don't fold over or slide down, wash well. 3 pair under $40! Several color choices. Need I say more?
The Marco Polo App:
I may do an entire post on the free version of Marco Polo versus the paid one, but get the free one TODAY! It's like text in the fact that you watch the video when you have time and respond when you have time. What I love is that your facial expressions, tone of voice, and appearance (weird but true) all come through. So if you're having a rough day emotionally, your friends and family can SEE that compared to a text that looks the same whether you are high on life or down in the trenches. You can also rewatch or pause a "marco" if you need clarity or get interrupted. I LOVE this app and I cannot say enough good things about it! It has revolutionized communication for me since I can safely marco on my commute (phone on dash) and between patients. With a spouse working opposite shifts, it has been HUGE for our marriage. It has even helped with my brother and sister-in-law living in China on a 13-hour time difference! My quiet time in the morning: Coffee, blanket, my chair, my heating pad, and QUIET. I journal, I pray, I follow my friend's scripture writing plan (linked below), I type these blog posts to you, I plan, I think, I listen to a book or podcast or YouTube video, I research, and I am uninterrupted. Am I an 80-year-old living in a 45-year-old's body? Maybe. With my autoimmune disease, some days I feel that way ?, but I cherish this time alone. It is mine, and there is something to be said for that. My new straightener: This was a Christmas 2021 gift, and I love it! I have just enough curl to be annoying, so I straighten my hair 90% of the time. If you follow me on Instagram, you probably saw my story showing that it lasted through errands on a rainy day and a full day of housework! I also have a post on IG about my "curly" hair that is worth a read... you know - how we all try to change what God gave us. ☀️ The Four Winds by Kristin Hannah: I hate having a movie or book ending spoiled by a friend, so I will just say this book is GREAT. I love historical dramas (this one is set during the Dust Bowl extreme draught in the 1930s) and the characters are lovely, raw, and transparent. I don't want to say too much, but read the summary if this peaks your interest at all. The narrator is Julia Whelan and she is amazing. I'm sure the paper copy is just as good or better. Homemade Chex Mix courtesy of my husband: No explanation needed! Salty & delicious. Thank God he only makes it at the holidays. Honing the new skill of asking for what I need: My therapist told me a secret. My husband, my friends, my coworkers, and my family cannot read my mind. I had never really though about that. Sometimes as adults, we assume all other adults know "what to do" or "what we need." They do not. If we calmly and safely ask for what we need and our people cannot or choose not to meet those needs, then that is another issue. It is not fair, however, to stay hurt or angry at a loved one if we never made our needs known. This blew my mind. So simple. So true. SUCH a game-changer. Sit on it and see if it speaks to you. *** If I have linked any products from Amazon, I am an Amazon affiliate. If you choose to purchase via my link, I will receive a small commission but your cost will be the same. I can use that commission to buy more reading glasses so I can see my laptop to keep blogging. ✍️*** I have been trying to name what Christmas does to me. What is it that I am feeling? Is it joy? Sadness? Grief? Regret? Yearning? Excitement? Happiness? Disappointment? Fear? Melancholy? I thought you might be feeling this way too. Are you? Aren't we all? So I decided to write all of us a letter. To the little boy who wanted the new bike but didn't get it, it is okay to cry. To the elderly grandmother who fears losing her mental faculties, it is okay to be scared. To anyone anywhere with that empty seat at the table, I see you. Whether it is Year One or Year Twenty without him, without her, without them, it still hurts. Don't swallow it, my friend. Don't shove it down. Allow its entrance and its exit. To the wife who notices her husband doesn't look at her as much as he once did, it is okay to feel unnoticed. I wonder if he feels noticed by you? To the dad who just wants everyone to get along (and they don't), go ahead and feel your frustration. You can't fix it (as badly as you want it fixed), so just sit in it. It will pass. To the one that got away, I think you got away for a reason. I don't know what it is, but I think I believe that? I'm allowed to think about it though. I'm tired of being told what I should or shouldn't think about, aren't you? To the sister who sees brother steal every show it seems, take that jealousy wave and ride it. Get it as big as you can until it slowly softens and washes away. To the husband who wishes his wife would touch him more, feel that hurt. Allow yourself to feel it and then ask yourself what she may be feeling right now. To the single mom drowning in debt, it is okay to feel anxious, scared, angry, sad. This isn't what you dreamed of - and it is OKAY to have feelings about that. To anyone spending this day alone (or feeling as if they are alone), it is awful. I have been single without kids, and I did not enjoy it. Be sad if you need to be sad. Feel the yearning for a family or relationship if you have it. When we deny ourselves and our feelings, we will never walk in our truth or our light. To the sweet little girl who loves all things Christmas and Santa and baby Jesus and twinkling lights and hot cocoa, please don't disappear. I still need you. We still need you. Your children need you. Your aging mom and dad still need you. YOU still need yourself. Please don't let go of that wonder. Please try to remember the warmth under the heaviness of reality, sweet girl. Please find that sparkle in your tired eyes and FEEL the delight of this day and the upcoming days. You know so much now, dear girl. You've seen too much now, my old friend. But you are still here. The you that is typing this or reading this - that has had lots of Christmas Eves by now... and the you that is only on her fourth Christmas Eve, staring at the tree, dreaming of Santa and his reindeer, warm in footed pajamas, holding her blankie, surrounded by her family, not a worry in the world. Hold on baby girl. We all need you right now. Remind us of that Peace. Joy. Contentment. Excitement. HOPE. I may not know what or who to believe anymore, but I do believe in YOU. Merry Christmas friends.
From me to you. Godspeed. |